Flesh & Blood
by Kelly123
Summary: "Oh my flesh and blood are traitors to you now." Hopelessly AU
1. Chapter 1

_If you are a stickler for canon, read no further than this very word. I'm serious._

_Still reading? Well, you asked for it...this thing is out of control. I have molested the hell out of timelines, taken advantage of plots, and in general had my selfish way with GRRM's world like some sort of shameless whore (and I am not the least bit sorry for any of it)._

_Beware aged-up characters, book and tv non-compliance, AU + OOC-ness, and overall madness galore. I name no names, but I think you can figure it out. If you are confused...well, you cannot say you have not been warned._

_I wish I had the patience to hash out all the little moments and conversations and details I so crudely left out in what follows, but alas, the plot bunnies were already running away from me and I just need to throw what I have out there and get some feedback.  
_

_(Hint, hint.)  
_

_D: Not mine.  
_

* * *

"**How do you find the North, my daughter? You might be lady of this castle one day one day, how might you like that little one?"**

**"Oh, for true Fa-"**

"**She is still a child for many years yet, it does not do to fill her head with such things, Your Grace."**

Once, and though it were not so many years past, it feels as it were someone else's lifetime, dreams had a different meaning to her. When she closed her eyes at night, she had not seen kittens and crowns and cakes dance behind her lids, for when she woke they lay before her more real than any veil of sleep might hold. Others might have longed for what she had taken for granted, but if they did she knew not of them or of what they dreamed. Neither did she think upon the loving embrace of a father or a sister's whispered confidences which she lacked, for such things were hidden from her and of their existence she was blissfully unaware. Lack or want had no place in her world, and as her life had already been made of dreams, so her dreams were made of the future.

Once she had dreamed though waking, through her lessons and whilst she embroidered, dreams so vivid they didn't have any choice but to come true. Dreams of her husband, a man good and powerful and handsome, who would adore her as fiercely as any knight ever loved a lady in a song. Mayhaps even more, so that new songs would have to be written to describe such a love as had never been before. He would be the very best sort of man, she was sure of it, with strong hands and a kind smile, and eyes as deep and as blue as the ocean. In this, her dreams were not so very different from those of the little girls who had never been her friends, except, of course, in their likelihood.

Once, her dreams had seemed as certain as her reality, for the face she saw did not belong to a nameless stranger. She did not long for a sworn man of the Kingsguard, or a gallant tourney champion as so many were want to do, but instead for a boy who battled with a wooden sword and a smile. She had seen his face, spoken his name, seen the sigil of his House to be one deserving of the hand of a princess. Once, she had dreamed of the perfect match, one her father had promised and her naive heart had beat madly for in anticipation.

Once, when she was young, and beautiful, and royal, and nothing could have ever, ever, hurt her, she had dreamed of him.

They had been lovely thoughts, but in the end that had been all they ever were, and even a princess must learn the difference between dreaming and reality eventually.

For dreams of promise had turned to nightmares as fathers turned to corpses, and home had become a distant place across the seas she wasn't sure she had ever really known. Her surreal little life had crumbled around her, taking with it her childhood, her hope for a match, and her broken family, exposing the golden stag princess as nothing more than a scarred lion bastard. Had he ever really been that girl, who spent her days playing with porcelain dolls and filling her head with such worthless yearnings, or were the memories only figments of dreams she could not make herself forget?

**"You won't forget me, Mother, will you? Even if I...even if they..."**

**"Not ever, dearest heart. One day you will come back to me, I promise."  
**

The heat of the sun and sand and sea had been too much for dreams so sweet, and they curdled on her tongue as the stifling press of it whilst she sweated beneath her borrowed bedding was enough to drive out prayers for anything save an escape.

And yet, it had seemed like she was dreaming once more when he came to them at Dorne. She was not so beautiful any longer, but not a child either, no little girl to be disregarded in favor of playing at swords in the frozen yard. He had been almost a man when she last saw him in the North, and now he was one grown, the sort that those who had been princesses once had hoped to give their heart to. Or had given, really, for one glance and she felt the breath rush into her lungs almost painfully the very same way it had those many years ago. It was so easy, to let hope slip back in to where it was once welcomed, to give in to dreams she had once known so intimately, that to stop herself was almost impossible.

He came to talk of wars and men and allegiances, sounding and acting every bit the courageous leader the rumors of ravens had made him out to be. Even here, in the closest thing she had to a home in the land of her failed match, tales of the Young Wolf had been spread to the corners of the land. How valiantly he had fought alongside those who followed him, the battles he had won and intricate strategies he had accomplished. His arrival in Dorne, which had remained almost isolated upon itself for the duration of the war, raised the pitch of the whispers which had begun to circulate of an end to the fighting. They spoke of the Dragon Queen so close to being seated on the throne, and the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch having left his Wall, and the Kinslayer dying a slow death in his camp, deserted by more of his men every day.

Such a thing could never be said of those the King of the North commanded, men were who were so irrevocably loyal that even Dornishmen could not help but to show their leader the same sort of unquestioning respect almost instinctively. His very presence commanded an instant reverence among the people who flocked to his side, and with so many vying for his attention, she could not believe her own good fortune when he shared a smile with her across them all. He was a good man, they all said, and she knew it in her heart to be true, for he spoke to her as though she were the daughter of his father's dear friend, and not the sister of his murderer. When his blue eyes peered into her own green ones, she did her best to listen raptly, storing up knowledge of what made the corners of his mouth peak in a smirk or his jaw set in displeasure. She was courteous, and demure, and tried to remember how his lady mother had behaved in the home in the north, to imitate the sort of woman she knew he loved so.

But sometimes his eyes would catch on the gold of her hair, and the face she adored would turn as cold as the lands he reigned over, and she knew he was remembering another woman, one who instilled nothing but rage in him. She hated the hard way his brow furrowed at such bitter memories, and she poured her soul into separating herself from her mother, and had hoped fervently that he would be able to do the same.

Perhaps she had not been so wise to do so. Her mother would have known better. She would have guarded her heart more closely, kept it safe from the lovely man with eyes so blue and kisses so sweet. Mother would have known better than to let herself dream of such songs, of a Kings who comes to rescue the stranded princess...but Mother had made grave mistakes with her heart as well, mistakes which hurt so many more people than she had ever given thought to caring for.

She cared, though. Above all else, she cared, too much mayhaps.

She had no place, of course, beneath his furs or against his skin, but she found herself there all the same. Wine and kisses, blushes and hands everywhere in darkened corridors, filled her every thought until she could scarcely breathe but to bring him to mind. His voice was low and his laugh like a million bells, soft and sweet and it made her tingle all over as it reverberated where the ruined side of her face lay pressed against his chest. Her dreams had been that of a little girl, and they did nothing to prepare her for the overwhelming rush of emotions which accompanies the love a woman feels for a man, for the feeling of his flesh against her own, of these secret nighttime meetings and hushed whispers of sweet things in the dark.

"**Oh _do_ stop it, your beard, it tickles horribly!"**

"**Tickles? Beards don't tickle, sweetling. Fingers tickle...like this."**

"**No, don't, quit it R-!"**

Always in the dark though. A place where dreams should stay.

For golden tresses had no place to lie entangled with auburn curls in the sunshine. It was different in Dorne, true, but not so different that a girl of illegitimate means could walk hand-in-hand with the man who might be king for all to see. She was not so useful to her surrogate countrymen now, and no one cared much whose bed she warmed in the night, so long as the dawn found her in her own chambers, alone. Amid the light of day they spoke courteously enough to one another when was proper, but for most purposes kept to their own, for their paths did not cross often. Whether or not his men knew where their leader spent his nights, or with whom, was none of her concern. The young wolf was free to claim who he pleased...or so she had thought.

He had sighed through gritted teeth, wrung his hands together roughly from where he sat perched on the edge of the bed and offered up a string of hateful curses directed at the parchment the raven had brought him. His bare shoulders were tense in the candlelight, and she had pressed her forehead into the taut muscles between his shoulder blades, willing herself to believe the promises he made one after the other with feverish determination. He mumbled the words into her skin as he pressed her back into the bedding, chanting his intentions to honor one and refuse another aloud over and over, as if in a fervent effort to convince himself, moreso than her, of their truth. Even her own name, when he whispered it into her the curve of her shoulder, sounded false and hollow, like it belonged to another person entirely. When he rolled off of her and grew still with the word still on his swollen lips, she wondered if he had felt her there at all.

And when the day broke, they each rose to greet it alone.

He had caught her eye once or twice in the days before his departure, and each time held it for a moment longer than could have been excused as an accident, a desperate kind of intensity burning within those blue depths. And each time, she refused to acquiesce to what he begged of her wordlessly. She would not step aside and humble herself before him as though she were a valiant fool, willing to forsake her own broken heart for the hope of a mended kingdom. She would not urge him to build some ridiculous bridge, would never assure him of his mother's wisdom in such matters and recount how the keeper of the Twins had once benefited his cause. That there was a debt to settle there was no doubt, and she of all people should have understood the danger it might pose him to renege on such. But it was not her obligation to repay. Pride boiled within her at the thought of demeaning herself to plead for her own honor, and in the moment before she sent her wine goblet shattering into the wall, she dropped it to the ground in shock. That this was all she had been to him, a pretty girl to warm his bed, but nothing worth fighting over, shamed her, though none so much as the possibility that more of a Lion's cruel heart might beat inside her than she had realized.

He did not come to her again before he left to retrieve his betrothed, a fact which brought her neither surprise nor relief. She felt only a dull numbness towards him, and accordingly their only farewell was exchanged publicly with all the civility that could have been expected between two people who, for all intents and purposes, might as well have been strangers. Or at least, they should have been. Could have been.

Alone between her sheets after he was gone the humiliation only built with every memory replayed in every dream she could not make herself forget, utterly cruel in their attention to details she would prefer to forget. Their sweetness caused her stomach to roil in response, had broken over her in waves of mortification that kept her from sleep and left her quaking and ill, covered in a sweat. She longed for the comfort of tears, but felt nothing at her eyes save for the burning tiredness of squinting into the blackness for endless moments until dawn finally broke. Night after night passed all the same, and if anything brought a semblance of a smile to her face, it was the dull tinge of vindictiveness in her belly when she caught sight of the shell of her former self in a mirror.

No one said she resembled her Mother now.

* * *

_There is a bit more where this came from..._

_Title is from the Right Away, Great Captain! song "Like Lions Do." I highly recommend it for listening music!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_More deviated manipulation of canon ahead, feel free to reread my disclaimer from last time if you don't remember what you are getting yourself in to. BTW, in comparison to what else I've got in mind for this thing, the first chapter was a cakewalk. _

_But alas, I cannot bring myself to care, because I love him so._

_I hope you do too!  
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_ D: Not mine.  
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* * *

**"He likes you, I can tell."**

**"He tolerates me some, but I fear he bears no love lost for the one who has stolen his spot in your bed, this brother of yours...or did you speak of your wolf, my lord?"**

**"Oh yes, he's going to like you too."**

The Lord Commander was delayed by the sea for his rendezvous in the South with his half-brother, and by the time had come that his forthcoming arrival was announced, the men had missed one another by almost a full moon.

She had not spoken of the spiteful satisfaction she gleaned from knowing the gods hadn't granted him the chance to be reunited with the one companion he truly longed for more than he had ever done for her, but such was to be expected, as she did not speak of him, or it, or them at all, and so her words were few at best. Bitter curses followed by shameful apologies were only spoken into her pillow as she drifted brokenly in and out of dreams which brought her no comfort at all.

The King of the North had made the promise to send a great number of his own men to protect the wall in exchange for his brother's leave, so that he might be at his side in command to make sense of the ravaged lands and people which had been left behind from innumerable battles. The whisper of such scandal would have shamed the kingdoms had there been anything left of them with enough honor to shame, but after all that had happened thus far it made barely a ripple over the land. The war had made oath-breakers of them all, and even her honorable wolf had been no better in keeping his vows than most men, that much had been made more than clear to her now. But he kept his word to his brother, if not to her or his betrothed, and despite his own absence half of the men to be sent North waited for the bastard in the courtyard when he brought in his scant crew from the Watch.

He looked terribly out of place against the Dornish landscape so very far from his wall, and with her own sallow skin and dark hollows under her eyes, she felt as though the bleakness of his lands might seem more suiting to her as well. They gathered to greet him and her fingernails had dug into her palms sharply at the painful familiarity of the scene and its bitter outcome. She made no effort to pinch color into her cheeks as she had once done then, doubtful as she was that he would recognize what is left of her face, less sure that she would even want him to. As for herself, she scarcely remembered the boy who had stood on the periphery of her memories of cold lands and wolf pups, except that he was dark and solemn and a bastard, most of all the latter. She had been a princess then, if not now, and to spare a smile for the base-born son of her father's dearest friend had not crossed her mind. Surely their gazes had met a time or two, but nary a word had been exchanged between such a disproportionate pair. However, when he had dismounted from his steed amid the sun and blue skies, all dark furs and dark eyes and dark hair, her breathe caught in her throat as she saw him for what seemed the thousandth time.

**"You must miss them all so terribly. I feel as though I almost miss them, and I hardly even met your family."**

**"Aye, I do, more than I could ever say. But we will make it right, my brother and I, I am sure of it. With the both of us, we will find our siblings and put the family back together again."  
**

**"I think that is nothing you aren't capable of, Your Grace."  
**

**"Oh, don't call me that!"**

The Young Wolf had spoken of nothing so much as of his brother, and when she looked upon the man dressed in black, she did so through his eyes. She saw the hard set of a jaw which could be teased into quirking upward into a hard won smile, and felt the satisfaction which might be earned of having softened the stoic features. She watched a stray curl blow across his face, and swallowed back the jape that bubbled at the back of her throat about how pretty and long he was letting his hair get. She felt things, sweet things one feels about someone they care deeply for, and for a moment she seemed to forget that this was a man she knew not.

But she could not pretend otherwise for long, for once his feet touched the ground, his eyes only darted across her for half a breath. He spared her a dismissive bow, and in a matter of moments and a number of movements she seemed to fall away to a pinpoint across the courtyard. Squires clambered about the horses, servants carried packs into the hall, and the world became yet again a place for men. She allowed herself to slip off and wander the grounds alone, as had become her custom since she found herself with fewer and fewer strangers she dared to trust. A strange sort of heaviness sunk down over her, one that left her feeling dreadfully weighed down and yet at the same time, entirely empty.

There had been no one she cared for the way this man did his brother. For certain, she had brothers of her own, but the love she felt for even the one of them could not compare to the strength of the bond between these two. She had shed no tears at the words of her elder sibling's death, though a pang of something similar to loss had struck her when she thought of how it must have pained her mother. The little one's passing had left her inconsolable, but she had grieved for a child as most anyone is like to, especially a sweet one whose sticky kiss she could still feel on her cheek like the touch of a ghost. Tides changed, though, and moons passed until she found it was not too many mornings before she could wake and realize she had not thought of her dear one once in the day that had passed. It pain, and it was loss, but it was not as though a piece of her own self had been taken from her, a piece which she would search for until her dying day to find...the piece which her lover had described as missing from his heart when they had whispered of their families scattered over the seven kingdoms.

She could not tell if such a part of her was absent now. It felt as though there might have been, once...but it mattered little. Such affairs did not have any place in this place, not any longer, mayhaps not ever.

For no one had cared for her as such either. She was no one's missing piece.

The bastard made it clear that he had no intentions of staying for a visit in their lands for any means longer than necessary to regroup his stores and gather any additional men than those his brother provided who might be willing to depart for the Wall. He and those he traveled alongside were men of the North, and the heat of Dorne burned at their frost-bitten skin as they sat grim-faced and almost naked without their furs, longing for their heft upon strong shoulders. In the South lay the greatest evidence that the long winter was at last beginning to thaw along with the discord of the fighting, though for truth the bitterest of the winds had never struck the lands with the vicious nature they tore through the rest of the Kingdoms. Even then, though there was snow beneath her feet and painfully little left on her bones to warm her, she wrapped only a woolen cloak over her shoulders as she went to stand alone amongst the trees.

But there is the crunch of snow and a dark shadow moving between bare branches, and she knows from the barely-caged anger in his gray eyes that he indeed had recognized her before he ever opened his mouth to call her princess.

The eyes she sees him through know that these trunks remind him of a godswood, and that he had come to pray and she had interrupted, and the apology is on her lips before he can turn on his heel to leave her. She knows who he prays for, and knows that the man who haunts them both is one and the same. Propriety would call for her to bite her tongue after her courtesies, but instead it is with nervous anticipation that she allowed word after word to spill forth from her lips, suddenly wrought with anxiety that if she did not, he might vanish between the trees as easily as the direwolf at his side.

And above all, she had decided that she was much too tired of people leaving.

So she tells him of the one he had come to meet in this land, the half-brother whose very name sparked something in gray stillness of his eyes which set her tongue utterly loosed. She described all of what had transpired since the Young Wolf's arrival, the negotiations, the treaties, and all of it with far more details than she should have known had he not whispered it into her pillow at night when the fires were burning low and they were both heavy with freshly-sated desire. She spoke of the green horse which had unseated him, and how he had howled with laughed and refused to accept another mount until the beast bowed to his will. She spoke of his wolf, and how very terrified the land as a whole had been of it, and for good reason. The almost smile which ghosts over the corner of his lips is gone so suddenly she would have thought she had imagined it were it not for the grin of her own it caused to be reflected in her face, the first she had allowed herself in longer than should have been.

She tells him of grave matters, and trivial things, until the sun is low in the sky and her throat is scratchy from overuse after being kept in silence for so long. A strange feeling of triumph built within her as the rage dissipated from his features, replaced with a look of concentration which had her fingers itching to reach up and smooth the lines marring his forehead. She could not, of course, and so instead she gripped the bark of the nearest tree with such intensity that she did not realize her palm was bleeding until he reached out to cup it in both of his calloused ones. He did not look at her while he wrapped a handkerchief round to bind the wound, and she is glad, for when he mentions her Uncle, her true Uncle and asks if she would wish to return to him, her tired eyes fill with the tears she had so desperately yearned for.

"**It is less than proper for a lady such as yourself to travel at these distances with naught but men for companions, but I assure you that-"**

**"Yes, please. I trust you, I don't...I would be honored, Lord Commander."  
**

He had told her his brother was a good man, and she was boneless with relief to find that not all of his words had been lies.

She had little to pack and even fewer farewells to exchange, with her heart crying out anxiously to be rid of a place which held so many bitter memories and futile dreams long turned to smoke. The path they followed was not an easy one, and it was none too many days into their journey that body was wracked with aches and her hands hand begun to tremble while they clutched at the reigns. She had never been much of a horsewoman, but she knew that the twisting sickness within her was too great, and the faintness in her chest too strong to be attributed completely to the endless hours they had spend in the saddle. Ever watchful, though from a cautious distance, he reigned back his horse to walk alongside her when she slumped over to clutch weakly at her mount's mane, dismounting in an instant to catch her as she tumbled downwards into the snow. He halted the procession instantly and ordered a space be cleared for her in one of the carts, one she had previously refused to ride in to avoid burdening the men with carrying the added weight she would have displaced. Wordlessly she accepted then when he placed her bony frame among the remaining stores of food, powerless to flinch away from his hands as they ghosted over her protruding joints with displeasure etched on his face.

There is some part of her which knows she should have been surprised by the gentleness with which he handled her, this cold man who she has never seen truly smile, but there is that other part, which grew stronger all the while, that had known he would have been, for that was who he was. When he forced a dense heel of bread into her hand and demanded she eat it, that part spoke again and told her not to protest, urged her to try.

When the horses stopped for the night to make camp in the woods he came to collect her himself, and filled with shame she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. He found the side of the cart sticky with her sick and most of the bread she had been given left untouched on the wooden floor, to which his gaze locked immediately on to the flat, almost convex plane of her stomach.

Then, and only then, she finally admitted to herself that she hadn't bled in the nearly three moons since his brother left.

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_I know, so cliche, right? I can't help myself!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Well...I don't even know what I have to say for myself about what is coming up next.  
_

_So maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and not say anything?  
_

_Who reads author's notes anyway?  
_

_Sounds like a plan.  
_

_ D: Not mine.  
_

* * *

**"When I'm a lady grown and married, I want to have twins, just like Mother and Uncle, blonde and beautiful."**

**"Don't be stupid, sister. If our Father has his way, you'll be stuck whelping pups, not lion cubs."  
**

**"You are so hateful, that doesn't mean they can't be beautiful still!"  
**

He mentioned but a single word, his brother's name, and though she could not bring herself to speak, the slight nod of her head was seemingly all he needed of her.

It said enough, in the end, even if she could not and he knew in an instant what she had avoided for much longer. She must have been as daft as her brother had always said not to have come to the truth of it before, to think that she could be rescued from this place and allowed penitence for the sins that weren't entirely hers without consequences. He certainly hadn't.

He held his tongue while she held her breath and the world seemed to twirl around them with a sickening dizziness. She struggled to bring herself to a sitting position and longed for the strength to stand and face him unafraid but found her treacherous limbs trembling and uncompliant as she lie helplessly against the carts rough wooded floor.

Night had fallen heavily around them, but even in the dark she knew the rage she had been so relieved to see lifted from his features was back, harsh and unbridled against his pale complexion. Only a flash of it was shown to her in the instant before he twisted away toward where his men set up camp beyond them, calling for her tent to be made ready and the maester to attend to her in a rough voice. She clung to the doughy man she had seen speaking frequently with the Lord Commander as he helped her from the cart and gently bathed her face before escorting her to where she was to sleep. After the sweet, shy man concocted a bitter broth which she was hesitant to try but relieved to find she could keep down, he was there at the flap of her tent, silhouetted imposingly against the night, though she found there was no fear of him in her. After their companion excused himself wordlessly, the man in black asked permission before stepping into her quarters, drawing the flap behind him and closing them off to the camp around them.

The questions he asked were brief and basic, and she kept her head held high while she answered them. He did not sit, but stood and paced, back and forth, back and forth, as much as the tight space would allow. When he finally stilled, he kept his eyes trained on the ground for a moment too long, and she felt her heart give a violent, if perplexing, little lurch of anticipation deep within her chest. When he lifted his head she knew why, knew that the utterly vulnerable expression on his face was one that even his brother hadn't recognized. Something had changed in him since he left his childhood home, and though the realization shouldn't have surprised her, it still did. The war had changed them all, and she knew she herself was hardly a shadow of the girl who had dreamed of what seemed madness to her now. But still, there was a hint of a boy he had been in his unguarded expression, a boy who was desperate for something she couldn't quite place. It bubbled up within her too, though, that desperation, a yearning to give him something she could not even name. He uttered the intimate words with a whisper of trepidation in his solemn voice, and they rolled over and over in her head until she was dizzy with the audacity of it all, and a bit of wild hope too.

_"_**My brother is a good man. Whatever faults he may have succumb to, it does not change the fact that he is the best chance the kingdoms have at regaining peace. No one shall ever know that he has fathered such a child, as I will not let his honor be destroyed by rumors."  
**

**"But...but what of your own honor, my lord?"  
**

**"I am no lord. I own no lands and have sworn to take no wives, but the honor of a bastard is of less regard than that of a king."  
**

It was not for her, she was not so naïve to think, once she regained the ability to do so and barely managed to gasp her acceptance back at him. She knew he would have done the same for any insipid girl who carried his beloved brother's offspring, knew it was to preserve the honor of the man who was so many miles away and wedding another for the sake of their Kingdom. For regardless of any vows he swore otherwise, despite whatever family he claimed to forsake for the Watch, the man before her is the Young Wolf's brother, his missing piece and dearest friend and other half, above all else.

Certainly before he is her husband, though surely he is to be that as well.

He shared her tent for the first time that night for the sake of appearances in what must soon become a hasty love affair, while the wolf who remained leery of her kept guard and his distance positioned just outside the flap. He had explained the necessity of their charade of impropriety as though he were reciting lessons from a dusty tome, assuring her sedately that nothing unbecoming need actually transpire between the two of them. She understood the haste in his actions, for she had not been so secretive in Dorne, and it would not do for tales of such to follow her North. With the maester's help she would be swelling soon, once she managed to eat more than a few spoonfuls each day, and secrets were not so easily kept in such close quarters. But innocence he had shown her was quickly concealed with her acquiescence, and when he spoke of their imminent wedding and his plans to claim her bastard as his heir it was with such impassivity, she wondered how believable their plot might be.

It is an unheard of proposition, and even if such a stoic and dutiful leader could be thought to fall victim to a man's baser passions, she did not comprehend how he expected rules that had been in place long before them, and were to still be so long after might be broken for the sake of people such as themselves. Surely it would not be allowed, she thought, but did not fully understand his answer when she expressed the concern to him, except that there was a wilding princess once, and one princess should be suitable as the next.

The fact that she wasn't a princess any longer, that the man she had thought to be her father was long dead and the man supposed to be her uncle missing, that herself and her dead brothers were bastards born of incest and suitable for nothing but...for nothing, truly, was not mentioned. He was a bastard himself, and she felt a sort of kinship with him for herself and the child she carried. She knew he loved his brother more than himself, and that the shameful revelation she brought upon him was wreaking havoc on his heart. That the one he held in such high regards would bring the sort of dishonor on another which he himself had carried himself so heavily all of his years was unfathomable, and she had seen in the tensity of his frame that the weight of it would not let sleep find him.

He laid next to her on the ground, as far apart as the small tent will allow, but still close enough that if either one were to move in the night they would be touching. She wished that he would touch her, even in his sleep, even as a mistake. For in the dark, with his eyes shut and his hair obscured and the smell of the North upon him, it would have been close, it would have been enough.

But he didn't, and she knew that he wouldn't. He only laid there, body still but his breath too uneven for sleep, while thoughts of the russet curls which sat palpable but unseen between them haunted them both long into the night.

Word of their supposed coupling had not taken long to spread through the camp. The men sneered at her behind her back, spoke of the dangers hidden in a Lioness's cunt, remarking as though it were a pity, though no large surprise, that she had sung her claws into him. They claimed that even greater men than their steadfast leader had found themselves fallen prey to the weapon of a vindictive woman's charm, though this one with her gaunt features was a poor substitute for her mother's beauty. They bit their tongues when she came into view, but it was no secret they despised her. The maester was unfailingly kind though, and she quickly learned why he was one of her newly-betrothed most trusted friends. When her strength returned to her under his care, the Lord Commander took to taking his evening meals with her when they had stopped for the night, to which she found it easier and easier to turn a blind eye to the cruel words which were passed about the camp regarding her presence. They were wrong, of course, they had to be. Because when she had found the warmest furs slipped into her packs, or the choicest bowls placed before her, or when the storms in his eyes calmed for even the briefest of moments whenever he caught her resting a hand on the flatness of her stomach, she knew. His men love him, in their own way, but despite their taunts which do not make sense to her, they are the ones who, truly, know nothing.

For when they finally came across a land which was in possession of a godswood, when they knelt before the heart tree with a poor excuse for a maiden's cloak upon her shoulders and whispered the vows he was never to speak, she knew in that place somewhere deep down inside of her that such things as the men said could not be so. For truly, it must all be lies, when in all the seven kingdoms there could be no greater man than the one who was her husband. He was not his brother, for whom her heart still seized at the thought of, but for that she was almost grateful. She had known love once, and it had played a cruel jest on her which she did not hope to repeat. For laughter surely turned to dust in time, but honor like his would prove her saving grace. As they rose from the frozen ground and she tilted her chin to meet the kiss he placed softly, briefly, on her lips, she said a silent prayer to gods she did not know to ask forgiveness for falling in love with the wrong brother. The one to which she was wed would be a good husband, and she prayed with all that was left of her heart that she would make him a good wife.

**"Your men did not require a bedding, my husband?"**

**"It was...spoken of, but I would not allow such. For obvious reasons."  
**

**"Yes. Obvious."  
**

The news came from King's Landing in the dead of night whilst they both slept. Even once married he did not once try to claim his rights as a husband, and instead kept to his side of the tent as though she were his sister and not his wife. Sometimes that part of her which knew him better than she should have longed to ask him why he did not lay his sword on the ground between them, as concerned with propriety as he seemed to be. She feared not jape at him though, for fear of pushing away the little vulnerability they shared in these instances. In the boldness born of her prayers in the godswood, on their wedding night she had reached for his hand in the darkness and he had held it tightly, the feeling of his palm clasped against her own a feeling sweeter than any kiss exchanged between a bridegroom and his bride. Their marriage might lack in passion save for that of another which had prompted it, but the tenderness she had glimpsed in him in these moments was something she knew not, and such was not a bad foundation to build a union upon. Their hands were still entwined atop the furs when the maester awoke them in a hazy daze of flustered sputtering, the night black and silent save for the scattered cast of light his lamp illuminated. Her head felt thick as she tried to focus on his hazy image, but when he spoke word of the Dragon Queen on the Iron Throne any remnants of sleep were gone from her eyes, no matter what hour of night it might be.

Instinctively, she made to take her leave when her husband sat upright and began pouring over the parchment with wide eyes while his friend raised the lantern for him to read by. Such matters were not ones women were often privy to, especially not wives who were daughters of the enemy. The circumstances ill-boded nature left her frightfully anxious, but certainly the maester would inform her of its contents if such matters where of concern to her. Her confusion only mounted when he did not release his grip on her hand and instead tugged her nearer to him to indicated with a tilt of his head that she read along with him. Even though they were not alone, she had never been so close to him, and it was several moments after her shoulder leaned against his bare one before she could gather her thoughts enough to comprehend the information contained therein.

By royal order of the newly-crowned Queen and rightful heir to the throne, the presence of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was demanded at court as immediately as him and his men could make haste to travel to King's Landing. The correspondence stated explicitly that the visit was imperative to discuss a matter of utmost importance, though as to the nature of the matter, it was left out entirely.

Surely though, whatever it may be it did not bode well for them.

* * *

_Dun, dun...yeah whatever. Reviews?  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_So my world has been consumed, and not by fictional characters for once, but by real, live...athletes?  
_

_I'm not a sports-following sort of girl, but something about all that Olympic solidarity and excitement has had me glued to the tv every day after work this week. I want to adopt Gabby Douglas as my little sister, and Ryan Lochte might seem like a cocky DB for the most part, but dear Lord he is an amazingly attractive man who is distracting me from writing about pretend life with the muscles and the swimming and the blue eyes and...where was I going with this?  
_

_(BTW, woo hoo for JK Rowling at the opening ceremonies!)  
_

_Anyway, let me just say how much I wish I could reply to anonymous reviews! Alas, I cannot, and so take this, my guest reviewers, as a deepest token of my thanks for taking the time to submit a line or two. Those things just make me all warm and fuzzy inside...in a good, entirely not-creepy way.  
_

_The way I feel when I watch that 19 yr old gymnast on the US men's team **is** creepy, but that's beside the point.  
_

_And read on, though I warn you it is, again, at your own risk. (Don't hate me.)  
_

_ D: Not mine.  
_

* * *

**"My brother says you've got dragon bones at your castle. Real ones, and big too, bigger than me even."  
**

**"Hush! Why must you speak of such awful things? Forgive my little sister, Princess, she-"  
**

**"What? It's true, isn't it?"  
**

**"Yes...at least, I've heard so. I have never seen them. It's dark down there, and much too frightful."  
**

**"Hrrmph, I wouldn't be frighten-ow! Don't pinch me!"  
**

The man she had called her father hated dragons. The man who was her true sire killed them. The girl she had been was afraid.

Or, at least, she thought she had been afraid. More truly, what she had felt while she listened breathless and trembling to her brother's tales of the skulls which lie deep in the bowels of their home had been but a farce of the emotion. It had kept her from straying too far into the lurking darkness or questioning her family's politics, but had not interferred with those dreams of sweet futures and even sweeter promises, where abominations of teeth and scale had no right to exist. That the two might become intertwined as such had been unfathomable in such a life, but the world had cruelly spun such nightmares into reality, bringing with them terror such as she had never known. She had learned the true meaning of fear through the wide eyes of a pawn caught in the midst of a dangerous game, through the cut of a blade through soft flesh, and now, through elegant words inked neatly onto parchment.

At least the beasts from her childhood had been dead, no bellies left to brew fire, or wings to cover the land in shadows ominous of certain death. But these dragons were very much alive, and led by a dangerous Queen they had crossed oceans and stolen thrones, commanded armies and sought revenge for their dead, the blood of which they could surely smell on her hands. She might not have been a a stag nor a lion any longer, but the fear which the little girl who had thought herself one remained whereas the titles did not. They had never belonged to her truly, that much had been made clear to her, and for that reason mayhaps a bastard's name suited her best of all. It had been the truth inside her all along, the girl who had been reluctant to roar or behold fury, and now she did not have to. The wife of a baseborn son bore no crest, claimed no adversary against the house which held the kingdoms yet again in the stead of her once-family. If the Dragons wanted to hatch their eggs on the Iron Throne, she had been more than happy to let them.

But sigils were not so easily disregarded in the hearts of those with fire in their veins.

And so she wondered when it was that ice had begun to flow in her own.

She was naught but a bastard, scarred and tainted and surely to be regarded a traitor for the actions of those she could not control. Her husband's own lineage was of a similar sort, though none so revolting, and she could tell from the pain he rarely let show in his stormy eyes that he too had born the brunt of a burden he had taken no hand in. But he had learned to wear his as a mask, his trials had taught him lessons she had taken neither the time nor the effort to learn. He was a fine man, honest and strong, and when a shock of his inky hair brushes across her cheek, she looked upon the man with her own eyes of green, and not those of blue from which she learned of him, perhaps for the first time. She should have been paying closer attention to the words he spoke rather than the concentrated set of his jaw as he glanced up from the parchment to confer to its contents with the maester in a low voice, but their discussion was but a dull buzz in her ears. Her pride was a weak, faltering remnant of her upbringing, but the sickening shame she had felt when she regarded the Lord Commander was not that for herself and the depths she had sunk to, but rather for him. He deserved more, more than the cast-offs of his brother and more than the bitter life the god's had chosen to curse him with, but somehow he had not allowed the bitterness of his luck to sour him like she had seen so many times before. It had been with a start which send her heart pounding that she realized just how very handsome he was, and how much the man she had wed was like the one she had dreamed of those many years ago.

She had meant every word of her silent promise underneath those trees with sap-stained faces, but what right had a girl who knew nothing of a true marriage have to pray for such? How could she be a good wife when she hadn't the slightest what one was? Instead, it was he who had been the answered prayer, the good husband who had made up for her own failings with carefully concealed kindness which seemingly knew no bounds. But even still, how strange that she might yearn with such fervor to be what he needed, when he had concerned himself so entirely with her own that she had not the slightest what his might be. But gods be good, she had, and she wondered when it had happened, how she had come to care for the stranger she had married unbeknownst to even herself. She pressed against him a bit closer though as her breathe became uneven, trying to take comfort in the safe feeling from the unyielding press of his muscles against her, and told herself that they had nothing to fear from the Queen who summoned them.

But underneath it all, she saw through her own lie. She felt dread's icy fingers slipped persistently around her with an embrace as familiar as a friend's, though none as welcome. The Mad King's daughter surely bore no ill will towards her husband, regardless of the side his father had backed in the rebellion. The Lord Commander had posed no threat to her reign, or had not until he married the Kingslayer's bastard. Surely that was the cause of the summons, a call which would have her to pay the debt her Uncle had left, as a true member of the house was meant to do. A sick feeling washed over her at the implications her standing in court might bring upon her innocent husband, setting loose a tremor which settled quickly in the pit of her belly. That he would surely be made to suffer for her sake, that this man who had given up so much for a girl who was no more than a stranger to him might have to give up his life as well when he had done nothing to deserve it left her doubled over in pain. She could not stop the cry which escaped her as spasms of rolling and churning shook her stomach in a way so overwhelming that she had not noticed she had dropped against his chest until she felt his arms lay her back against her pillows. The agony racked her insides in a way which she had never felt before, and though dimly, she registered his hands enclosed over her own yet again when she turned to her side and attempted to curl in on herself. The maester ran for his herbs as quickly as his thick legs would carry him, but in the end it was for naught. The insides of her thighs were slicked with blood and the ground beneath her stained a rusty red before he ever returned.

It was a messy way to answer a prayer, but an answer none the less.

**"This is a woman's weapon."**

The maester had eased milk of the poppy down her throat whilst her insides quaked and seized, and she passed more than a day suspended beneath its depths in a dreamless stupor. When she slipped back into consciousness he was awake and seated next to her in the dimming twilight, though the letter was nowhere to be found. He had given her a nod and inquired as to her health, gently but with an air of unease, and all the while the gloved fingers which rested on his knees searched restlessly for purchase in the fabric of his breeches. She had yearned to reach out and take hold of them in her own trembling hands, to allow herself to be pulled tightly against the furs across his chest and soak them through with her tears while she mourned in his arms, but she didn't, couldn't, and he made no such motion himself to do so himself. Instead, she answered amiably as a wife should, keeping her eyes trained low and after a few moment of uncomfortable silence he had exited and sent in the maester. While the man bustled about her mixing his draughts, she learned that her husband's men had been ordered to set up camp for an indiscriminate length of time without being giving a reason. Surely they knew, though, just as surely as she had known what must be done.

No longer bound by the bastard in her belly, he would be free to give up the wife he never wanted and return to his wall, or to his brother, or anywhere other than the castle now ruled by the Mad King's daughter. Surely the Her Grace would have no interest in the Lord Commander then, once he were free of those blasphemous vows which endangered him so. It was the least she could do to repay the debt he had taken on by agreeing to carry her shame. She knew she had brought nothing but sorrow to his heart, heavy-laden as it already were, since they had crossed each other's paths those moons ago, and she could not bear to burden him any longer. His men would rejoice when it came to pass, when they would part ways as they had ought to have done so long ago so that she may return to the Capital, alone, to face her death with her head held high. He saved her once, and if she could do nothing else, she would go to her grave knowing that at least she had done the same for him.

She had long banished the dreams she had clung to as a princess, dreams destroyed by a cruel brother and conniving mother, false fathers and lovers that were never truly hers to have. She held no hope of ever loving whichever man she was given to, a girl with a ruined face and a ruined family, and nothing but ruined matches in her wake. But the King of the North had come and made her doubt herself, and then he had gone and left her only with ruined honor as well.

She no longer hoped to change her future. Only to make atonement for her past.

It would not do to have his men grow hard of heart as they sat restlessly and waited like children for the permission of an ailing woman. It had to be done and done quickly, this severing of a marriage. In rights, it could have been done with ease, having never been consummated, but no septon could ever mistake a woman who had been with child as having been left a maid, even if it wasn't her husband's doing. But she doubted the union of a man who was never to have been wedded would be difficult to contest. Men of the Night's Watch were to have no wives, and so it should be again. He had been a good husband, better than she could have hoped to have, and in setting him free, she would do her part to make him a good wife.

The maester brought him into her tent and she met him on her feet, gripping a chair at her side to mask how unsteady her legs remained. Her heart beat madly but her gaze betrayed none of her qualms, green eyes never left those of gray as she thanked him, humbled herself for his kindness, and informed him that his duty to his rectify brother's misstep was no longer required. She stared at him when he took in her bevy of information without a single influx of emotion on his face, for once as unreadable to the other eyes she still peered through as well as her own. She stared at him when he waited, solemn and unmoved, for her to finish before opening his mouth.

She stared at him when he refused.

**"I do not fear the dragons, princess."**

**"You misunderstand me. I am not a princess, and as such, you must not feel compelled to serve me any longer. Your duty to your brother has been repaid, moreso than either of us could have ever asked."  
**

**"But you did not ask. I chose, and I stand by my decision. My brother's honor is not the only one I seek to protect."  
**

**"But you don't have to-"  
**

**"Mayhaps I want to."  
**

**"Do...do bastards ever really get what they want?"  
**

**"I would be willing to try and find out. If you are."  
**

But she could not stare when his hand reached out and wrapped itself over the length of her scar, thumb pressed gently against the marred remains of her skin and moving across it so softly that she did not realize the tear had slipped from her eye until she felt its wetness under his calloused fingertip. Her own mask, as carefully poised and unreadable as his own, faltered then, and she could not do anything but close her eyes and try not to lean into his calloused warmth. Her face betrayed her but she would not allow the rest of her to do the same, not even when her entire body cried out to step into the warmth of his embrace, the one she did not dare to hope might be waiting to envelope her should she take even the smallest of steps.

She could not, but when he dropped his hand and that they would leave for King's Landing as soon as the maester deemed her well, it was enough that he had.

* * *

_Sorry folks, but I just love to root for an underdog!  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_I am going to be so forlorn when the Olympics are over. I mean, men's diving...could those speedos **be** any tinier?! Not that I'm complaining or anything, but oh my!  
_

_Ridiculously off topic, no speedo's in Westeros, you say? What a pity. _

_I mean, seriously, a pity, can you even imagine?! Jon and Robb, competing in synchronized diving together...  
_

_Abs. 'Nuff said.  
_

_(And I changed the character setting on this story. It is official, sorry if I got your hopes up for R/M...because it's totally J/M)  
_

_ D: Not mine.  
_

* * *

**"Do you think you'll ever go back there, to King's Landing, I mean?"**

**"Well, Your Grace, that entirely depends."  
**

**"I've told you not to call me that, and upon what does it depend?"  
**

**"Whether or not anyone is willing to take me."  
**

He had asked her to trust him, and from the moment he whispered the words into the night she knew she was helpless to deny him.

Moments had never passed so slowly as they had whilst she waited for dusk to fall on that eve when everything between them had shifted in those few words and a single touch. Nervously she had readied herself for bed, feeling every bit the anxious maiden awaiting the arrival of her new husband into their marriage bed. Never mind that they had been married for some time now, and had shared furs for longer than that, or that she was no stranger to the feel of a man's body moving in tandem with her own, for none of that seemed to matter any longer. Alone in the dimming twilight her heart had raised itself up in her chest with every nervous breath she drew until it had lodged high in her throat, causing her to gasp and choke with every shadow that passed by. She both dreaded and longed for his arrival, so uncertain was she of just what it might hold, even more of what she wanted it to hold. The warring strain of emotion took such a toll on her already exhausted body that she had succumb to sleep long before her husband ever returned to her, kept late by conferring with his men over their new destination.

She stirred drowsily when he slipped into his place beside her, closer than before but still not quite touching, his wolf pressed against their feet in relenting acceptance of her intrusion on their lives. With a groggy mind and limbs she struggled to raise herself up and greet him, but a smile she couldn't see in the darkness played at his lips and he only shushed gently in response. As her head fell back gratefully upon her pillow she felt nothing but relief at his presence, and comfort in the familiar pressure of his hand as he wrapped it around her own. Dreams had come easily to her then, and though she could not quite remember them come morning, she thought that maybe those are the best sort to have.

It was several more sunrises into their journey that she found herself in his arms, and when she woke to it for the first time the feel of it was so that she cursed both of their foolish, prideful selves for denying them such comfort as had been waiting to be shared all along. Unable to resist the spark of their new found intimacy, she pressed her face against the stubbled hollow of his throat and unexpectedly felt his shoulders begin to tremble with silent laughter underneath her, and realized she had in fact voiced her thoughts as to such aloud. Blushing fiercely, she pushed none too gently at his heaving chest in feigned disapproval, but when his laugh rang out, clear and true, she could do nothing else but to join him. Her mouth twitched from the effort of trying to hide her smile before she surrendered to it, and such joy as she had not felt in far too long soon caused her lungs to ache and her head to spin. They were breathless with mirth by the time it happened, and whose lips had found the others first she could not say through the blur of dizzying memories, but his mouth was warm and sweet and more than anything, his own.

Her heart had been so quickly lost to his brother that she had not quite recovered it in time to feel the subtle warmth which had lain hidden under the words he spoke. They were tangible in that moment though, and in the ones to follow, gently, gradually melting the frost which had crystallized around her and beginning to set free a desire to fan the flame which simmered low within him. There were no heady glances or fervent fumbling when they could steal a moment to themselves in the dark, but shy smiles, and gentle touches which left her skin singing and her heart beating out a fierce rhythm to match the one she felt as her fingers ghosted over the veins in his wrist.

It was a slow burn, this new heat between the two of them, one which she knew was only beginning to catch fire.

It frightened her, but it was a fear that she knew she must learn to grown with, not run from. More than that even, it gave her something, someone, to fight for. It fit together a piece of her she hadn't realized had been missing.

**"I like it when you smile."**

**"You are mistaken, wife. I wasn't smiling, I was only...stretching my cheeks."  
**

**"Oh. Well then, I quite like it when you stretch your cheeks. Husband."  
**

The walls and roads which had carried her through her childhood stood almost unrecognizable before her when they entered the city's gates. Blackened bricks and charred rubble lined their path, streets stained with red and skies streaked in smoke, and yet it still felt like home to her. The smell was stronger than before, though whether the spoils of war had increased it or it had been her absence which had done so, she neither knew nor cared. The sight of the castle in the distance instilled in her a strange sort of anticipation as she peered out from behind the curtain of the cart she was seated in and into the harsh, dark faces of the Dragon Queen's men which guarded the streets and willed herself not to be afraid. She thought of her husband's strong arms wrapped around her as they had been in the dark, of the press of his lips against her own before he mounted his horse to take his place ahead of his men, and the feeling was not so hard to push away.

Strength had become easier to find once she had someone who her believed strong.

She was not permitted to stand at his side when the Queen called for him, though it was with a halfhearted hope that she had requested to do so. More peculiar than the fact the Lord Commander's wife be banned audience for the assembly though, was that the same was to be said of his men. In fact, they were not even to meet before the throne in the Great Hall as would have been expected, but rather within the Tower of the Hand with only her most trusted adviser in attendance. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest as she watched her husband leave her, and she swallowed back the fear that it might be for the last time. His kiss was sweet upon her cheek, and the maester's hand soft on her shoulder as she was guided into the chambers she had been given to await his return.

Late into the night she sat before the fire, staring into its depths until the flames had turned to embers and the castle was quiet save for the stuttered groaning of brick and mortar so familiar to her even now after all their years spent separated. Muted footsteps passed by her door in uneven intervals as guards patrolled the corridors and servants made their way to their own rooms, each one causing her breathe to catch in her throat as she waited for the sound of his own heavy boots over the threshold. It felt eerily familiar to that night when she waited for him in her tent, and she longed to be in that moment once again. Her eyelids had felt as though heavily weighted, but she had not been able to bring herself to abandon the chair in which she sat posted in favor of the bed. If he would even return to her rooms after speaking with the Queen...if he would ever return, was not known to her. But she did hope, and when the slow grate of the heavy door sliding over the floor registered to her ears, she almost cried at the sound.

Tears, however, were not hers to be had for the night. Restraint still ingrained in the cautious new roles they held for one another, she rose to meet her husband slowly, bowing her head with a murmured greeting as were proper. But the sound of her own name, falling brokenly from his lips caused her to start. His wolf's nervous whine followed, a sound she had never heard the beast make before, and when she looked upon him there was the shining wetness of unshed tears in his eyes.

Forgetting the shame she should feel in seeing such a man brought to weakness, unthinkingly she surged forward to cradle his head in her hands, wiping the tears as they began to fall from his eyes as he had once done for her. The hesitant shyness which had marked the embraces which they had only so recently begun to share vanished with the breath in which his shoulders began to shake. Despite his greater strength he allowed her to lead them both to the floor as she dropped to her knees and drew him closer to her while he stumbled over the news the Queen had so desperately wished to discuss with him. He told her the truth of his heritage while she ran her fingers through his curls, the pain in his voice cutting through her as sharply as if it had been her own, and she wished it were, so that she might take it away from him. His voice broke and she could do nothing but press her lips against his temple, holding him in her arms like the mother he had never known might have, like the one she did never had.

**"I was the cause of it, everything was all my fault."**

**"No, you must not think like that."**

**"But it is! The rebellion, the war, all of it, it's my fault! So many lies, so many deaths-"  
**

**"Hush. You were only a babe, and you can no more change the past than you can control who your parents were."  
**

**"He never dishonored her, all those years she hated me for it, but he wouldn't..."  
**

**"Oh, you sweet, sweet boy, you never deserved any of what you've been put through. You are so full of love...and you must know he loved you, no matter who your father was, he loved you dearly."  
**

All he had ever wanted was a family, she thought to herself after his eyes closed and he lay slumped against her shoulder, ragged breathing growing even with sleep. People to love and grieve and care for as though they were more of him than he was himself, and she felt a pang of vengeance for those who had taken it away from him, the selfishness of depriving a heart like his of the opportunity to be filled as it had been made to be. It might still be his, though, the love he so rightly deserved, and she might be the one to give it to him. It was a daunting responsibility, but one she was surprised to find herself eager to undertake. She would hold their children like this, children whose eyes might be gray or green, or even violet, who might never know what it felt like to be a bastard as their parents had.

Children who would be loved like their parents never had.

In exhaustion they met sleep where they lay huddled together, fully dressed and a tangle of limbs and fur against the cold ground. Slipping away into blackness, she heard a sneer reminiscent of her grandfather murmur of a Lion finally trapping a Dragon with her claws in a distant corner of her mind. Her brow furrowed in sleep, but she only pressed closer to the warmth of the direwolf at her back and did not remember such whispers in the morning.

The morning, which brought with it a flurry of ravens and duties and even more tears as their lives spun madly with the chaos such changes held. Moments turned into days which were filled with new responsibilities she had never thought to hold, and roles were realigned once more as the Red Keep became more of a home than the place she had ever known before. Her smiles were real, and when her Uncle pinched her cheek upon his arrival, scar and all, she laughed as if she were a girl once more. Life was not easy, but she thought, maybe for the first time, that it didn't always have it be so in order to be good.

She took to breaking her fast with her husband's aunt, and when she teased her mercilessly about the way the man's usually dark eyes shone when he looked upon her, she wondered how she had ever been afraid of the Dragon Queen.

The offer came to take her mother's old chambers, and she did not give a moment's pause before declaring her refusal. The past was a place neither of them wished to dwell in any longer. When she shared her husband's bed for the first time in deed as well as in word, there would be no ghosts with green eyes or ones with red hair in the room with them. Even the wolf which never left the new Crown Prince's side was barred from the room after the innocent kiss they always shared before bed began to turn into something more, and she found herself giggling like a maiden against his chest when her husband shouted out a flustered command at the snout which tried to nose its way beneath the furs with them.

Dreams had never been sweeter.

* * *

_I don't know where it came from, but I ship Jon/Myrcella like WHOA! They are just so perfect in how their story lines are the complete reversal of one another...I just try to forget the age gap. Like I said, I didn't concern myself with things like book accuracy in writing this.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Oh fluff, fluff and even more fluff! Can't stop it, and don't want to!_

_I have no excuse for what took me so long to get this out. Hopefully you haven't gotten tired of waiting on me and moved on. It isn't much to garner such a delay, but alas...it is finished nonetheless._

_I hope you have enjoyed reading this ridiculous tale I have spun of a ship that was sunk before it even set sail as much as I have writing it, and maybe someone will feel inspired to spawn more J/M goodies for the world to partake of!_

_Well, a girl can dream, can't she?_

_(I switched up the tense on this from past to present, and yes it was intentional.)_

_D: Not mine._

* * *

**"All of your mother's beauty...and none of her venom. Be glad of it, my niece, for such is a blessing from the gods."**

**"But what do you mean Uncle? Mother is the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and the most lovely woman in all of the land. I hope to be just like her when I am a woman grown."**

**"You would make a better queen than your mother ever did, sweetling. Maybe one day you will get the chance."**

He is uncomfortable this far South. He never says so aloud by day or by whisper in the night, but she feels it in the weight of his body next to her just the same. He has safety and a purpose and a family here in their new home, all of which he must have longed for in his previous life as a bastard, but it is so new to him that he moves along as though restless in his own skin.

It is a different sort of existence here, and it would seem he is not suited for adapting quite as readily as she. The heavy heat bogs down his lungs so used to the icy burn of the cold, and the bump and bustle of so many people closing in on him from every side makes his eyes narrow and flit about suspiciously. He doesn't trust them, these men who swear allegiance to his aunt and therefore to him, but his hair is not silver and his eyes not violet, and their gazes catch on his dark features with distrust etched across their faces. The Night's Watch have returned to their Wall, their absence taking with it the support he drew from his faithful companion the maester. His wolf echoes the unease, and spends his days pacing the corridors and growling at those who approach them, thrusting his nose into his master's side and whining when the threat has retreated. She often catches him giving the creature a look of sympathetic longing as he runs a scarred and calloused hand through its dense fur, murmuring to it in tones too low for her to understand.

Sometimes she steps back and allows these creatures of the North to share a moment in which to remember biting cold and bitter winds and so many other things she does not understand. He holds some memories so deep within him that she fears he will never speak of such in front of her, and there is such heaviness in his limbs and eyelids when she comes upon him in these moments that she is almost relieved to be spared. But then she thinks back on the night he allowed her to hold him in her arms whilst he unburdened his heart, and she is filled with a desire to share his every emotion, those of joy and those of pain and each in between. He does not open himself easily, her husband, but she is learning him for herself day by day, bit by bit, and with every fragment she uncovers about the man he is and the boy he was she feels a little more complete by his side.

It is on these days she pushes the light from her candle into their shadows and interrupts their mourning for a past she does not share. Her heart flutters in her chest with pride when she whistles to the wolf and he bounds to her without hesitation, and she feels the muscle stop altogether when his master slips between them and extinguishes the meager flame with a heavy breathe.

Some years ago, or even not too many moons past, she would have found herself frightened by the prospect of being trapped against a wall alone in the inky blackness with a man such as he. But now, as she laces her own tightly around his neck and pulls him into her, she has never felt as safe as she does when in his arms. She feels his body go slack against hers when the two meet, the tension and weight which he carries so heavily carried away with the smoke from the flame, and knows that it is her nearness which makes it so.

He is uncomfortable with the sun and the stench and the sigils he must bear in this place, but he is not unhappy. For all she does not know about him, what he has done, what he has seen, and what he cannot tell her, of this much she is sure, and it is enough. She does not need a candle in a corridor to see the way his eyes brighten at her voice, for she feels it truer than anything she ever has before.

He is not unhappy, and neither is she. When the wolf rests his muzzle against her knee or her husband's fingers trace lazy patterns on her skin or the queen flashes her a knowing look that leaves her blushing hotly...she is the very furthest from unhappy that she has been in longer than she can remember.

It is not perfect, but she is so far gone from the girl who thought life was a waking dream that she cannot quite remember what she thought perfect might be like. Mayhaps it means a world with more smiles than somber expressions gracing his face, and every time she coaxes one from his lips she feels a bit closer to a place two bastards had no place in coming to know. Especially not together.

But somehow they find it.

There is talk of rejoining with the North, of building an alliance upon the strength of brotherly love and trust to restore the divergence the war has placed between the Kingdoms. When her husband holds the parchment granting him lands to rule in the North, in the name of both his new house and the one he could never quite claim as a boy, and the smile that splits his face is bright enough to melt all the snow in what will soon be their very own kingdom. Ravens are sent and heralds are called and when she finds him sorting out his warmest furs from beneath his lighter tunics she smiles at his boyish anxiousness and slips in beside him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

All in due time, of course, she thinks to herself as she stills his premeditated packing. Because all she has seen of his happiness before dims in comparison to the moment when she tells him they must delay their plans for travel until after the babe has been born. The stone walls must reverberate with his proclamations of delight throughout the entire keep, and she thought eyes only twinkled in songs but she swears his put the stars to shame as he looks on her with the most awestruck reverence before taking her in his arms. His lips press feverishly against her belly, and she feels their heat radiate through all the cloth between them and thinks she could never be cold again, no matter what their new home might feel like.

**"He doesn't know, that is, I never...I could tell him not to come, if you would wish."**

**"After all you have given me, how could I deny you what I know your heart longs for? I will look forward to his visit if for nothing else than the joy I know it shall bring you."**

**"I could not find joy knowing that my doing so might cause you distress, especially not now."**

**"You could not bring me anything but happiness, even if you tried otherwise.**

She is pretty enough, the girl on the Young Wolf's arm when the King of the North comes to pay his respects to the Dragon Queen. No prettier than the one he was betrothed to and not a girl to risk losing his kingdom for, but pretty all the same.

There are worse things in the world than to be pretty. Better things too, but she cannot fault the girl for what she does not control. Mayhaps no one knows better than she, how one can neither control the beauty they were born with any more than they can the man their heart gives itself to. They are as fickle as the breath with which they both might slip just out of reach.

Love and beauty had long since ceased to be a crown granted by a victor, but a cause for war and a price which might be paid with much pain. She hopes this girl knows so more than she did, or for the better, might never have to learn through her own tears.

Though she thinks her guest but a girl, in truth the title is likely want to be misleading. It must be that the new Northern bride has seen more namedays than she has herself, but the demeanor she displays would argue otherwise. Whereas the younger girl has long since learned to school her face for the decorum of holding court, the nervous blush which darkens the visitor's cheeks whenever she breaks her stare with the floor makes her seem more of a child than a lady wife.

She keeps her eyes trained on the ground as she sinks down into a low curtsy before the throne, neither her nor her husband noticing the Crown Prince and Princess from where they sit silently observing their guests at their seats below Her Grace. From there they might be strangers, and for all that has transpired since their last meeting, they might as well be...and in truth she wishes it could be so. But their presence can not be disregarded when the names of the royal heir and his wife are announced and their eyes finally meet.

Is it his brother's seat so very near the Queen's side that causes the man before her to go white-faced and slaw jawed, she cannot help but wonder, or could it be the sight of the one whose hand he holds clasped in his own? Whatever he had read through their correspondence obviously had not prepared the Young Wolf for the reality of laying eyes upon the man he has spent his boyhood with draped in finery with a circlet resting in his curls and a princess upon his arm. He is mute and motionless for a long moment, and with the softening of his features he looks far more like the boy he should have been had he not been forced into manhood so young. Stepping out just slightly from behind her husband, the girl who is not truly a girl offers up a nervous but genuine smile as they approach, and it is with no resentment in her soul that her good-sister returns it with the warmest of her own.

May she never know the circumstances surrounding the betrothal of those before her, or of her own beloved's role in the matter. May she only see the fair-haired lady as the mother of her nieces and nephews, and, if the gods be good, as a friend.

It would be nice, to have a friend with whom to share life with while they watch their children grow up together. She doesn't know if she has ever really had a true friend before, and the wife of her good-brother, for that is all she ever wishes him to be to her any longer, seems a fitting start. A lady whose children whom she could love without wishing they were her own, not when her arms are filled with tousled heads of dark hair and her heart is full of love she never could have imagined knowing. She aches to feel the weight of such little ones in her arms, and though she knows that no babe will ever replace the one she lost, she feels a sense of peace in knowing for true that such things were not meant to be.

For when she looks upon him, she can see what she had hoped for in dreams could never have been so.

He would have been, and surely is, a good husband, this man with auburn curls and blue eyes, she has no doubt of it. Certainly he loves the girl at his side as truly as he knows how, and she does the same to fulfill her duty as the wife he risked so much to gain. Both of their eyes linger when they fall upon the swell of her stomach, and though his widen in unease, hers do so in excitement. She offers the girl a discreet smile of encouragement, and when she responds by blushing and pulling at her gown she cannot help but think to herself if their children might be as close in age as their fathers.

Her hands rest possessively over the bump while her husband leaves his seat to embrace the brother he had so long missed, and she does not begrudge him this small comfort. They are good men, the both of them, though she knows with all of her heart that she has the best of the two, she holds no ill will for the one who unknowingly pushed her into the arms to which she fits so perfectly into.

A bastard who had been the daughter of the King, for a King who had been a bastard. It is a dream so absurd she had never seen it behind her lids, but one so true that she lives in full with every breath she draws in.

Myrcella Baratheon might not have been enough of a princess for the Robb Stark, she was certainly enough of a queen for Jon Targaryen.

(Though he will never take any name other than that which blankets his lands. Snow.)

**"Oh Mother, tell us of the first time you met Father. Did you find him terribly handsome? Did you know at once that you loved him, did you?"**

**"Calm yourself sweetling, your mother has been up all night tending to your sister and she needs her rest. Bring your brother and let us leave her be."**

**"Might you tell me then, Father? What did you think of Mother when you first laid eyes on her?"**

**"Truth be told...I thought her rather insipid."**

**"FATHER!"**

* * *

_So we all know my crazy OTP...so do tell, what is yours!? Who knows, it might even spark my own interest!  
_

_(Oh, and PS, Robb and Jon spend the night getting incredibly drunk and reminiscing over old times, and as a result Robb and his wife (Jeyne, of course, none of this dumb Talisa shiz) miss the Red wedding and don't die. But Catelyn does, because she's a bitch. Okay?)  
_


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